


the horror is in our hands / the hands that hold our hearts down.

by valvet



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Original Character(s), Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:41:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28469205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valvet/pseuds/valvet
Summary: "“Perhaps I said too much,”“Not necessarily,” He felt an urge in his body to grab him by the necktie and kiss him, perhaps it was the blood loss, but he did...like the thought. “Most men become delirious and suicidal when shown their own fate of certain death, I cannot blame you for being right,”"
Kudos: 2





	the horror is in our hands / the hands that hold our hearts down.

**Author's Note:**

> hey so uh, giant tw for suicidal ideation, self harm and its ideation and just general depression.   
> (btw i don't, condone this, i'm just working through things)

Pain and agony went hand in hand, wrists bound with Neifos, it was only understandable that a man like him, a man whose whole life was based in the despair he suffered would be so close with these emotions. Neifos, for the past few days, had been indulging himself in the art of death -- the journey he had joined, was doomed, the ice had locked Erebus and Terror into its grasps, waiting for all the men to fall into the abyss of freezing temperatures so at last, it could be alone again. The idea of staying alive was something most men would be a part of, Neifos never was, if he was alive, then so be it, but if Death was that close...then he would have to try.

He had tried to take his life before, first when he was seventeen, his mother had cursed him out more than usual, the concept of her “daughter” being a son instead brought her to hot tears and walls indented with Neifos own skull, the attempt failed however (perhaps if he was dead, then the ship would have made passage), instead he ran as fast as he could to work, and never came home again. At least his manager liked him enough (his hands were always hot, it was wrong, but the attention was needed).

Now, he had slit open his wrist, only one, it would be greedy to do both, however, as the blood pooled in his room, it didn't...feel right. The pain had subsided, before it was obvious, bright and hot, the feeling he loved, but now? It had gone and hid itself in the cold, and he hated it deeply, his teeth gritted themselves together as he put a cloth over it.

He knew Dr. Stanley well enough, they had shared conversations about the human body before, its limits and...other such things, within the quiet moments then had (from which many were a thing), he knew that man craved death more than anything else, his eyes were lonely, dark circles formed around them and skin ghostly white.

Mr. Goodsir would be gone by now, and when he creaked open the door to the office, he was correct, Dr. Stanley sat, looking like he wanted somebody to plunge a knife into his skull, he couldn’t blame him.

“Sir,” Neifos spoke into the darkness, “I’m bleeding”

Stanley didn't even flinch.

“Come in,”

Multiple times throughout the trip did he bleed, sometimes only slight head injuries, other times from menstrual cycles, but all the times did Stanley never seemed shocked about it, sometimes annoyed, as he should be, but never overtly concerned, unlike the secondary surgeon aboard, who spoke only with concern and empathy.

This time, a different emotion came to his face when he saw him, Neifos, a lieutenant who had been praised for his strength and emotional stress throughout the time stuck here, who had self-mutilated himself for the hell of it.

It was like the way you look at a work of art, with close glances and intrigue, the way a man admires a woman whom he loves from afar, knowing that he can never have her properly due to difference in class. 

“Was that by your hand, Mr. Fairholme?”

Most men would be angry at that concept, that his fellow man was that hateful of himself -- Stanley, by everything else, was always clinical. 

“Mhm, I did, cut it open with my pocket knife,”

“Why?”

“I…I wanted to,”

He expected to be scolded, but instead, Stanley continued on, kneeling down before him as he took off the cloth and looked at his wrists, the blood still coming and beyond it all, still burning with what he wanted, heat.

“Did I hit anything important, sir?” Neifos asked quietly.

“Almost so, if it wasn’t for the fact you didn’t apply enough pressure while slitting, you would have bled out before you could even arrive here,” He paused, “Did you want that?”

“To die?”

“Correct, did you?” Oh, he liked the way he spoke.

“I did -- are you going to tell the Captain that?”

He got back up, retrieving bandages, “Not necessarily, if you fail at it again then I will” Perhaps it was cruel to say that, Neifos knew how to identify such things, but those words were oddly comforting, even as he bandaged up the only heat he’d get.

But, then his finger lightly grazed his wrist, and he almost saw God, it was like a light took over his body -- then his hands weren’t on his skin again, and he let out a hiss through his teeth. The times a man had touched him at all began few in between, at the beginning, it was a casual thing, a hand on his shoulder, a joking kiss on the cheek -- and then awake in Dundy’s bed trying to quietly escape from his horrible stiff arms. 

“Do you often cut, Mr. Fairholme?”

Neifos paused.

“Not often,”

“If you want to die, it’s easier to fall off something, cutting doesn’t do much,”

It was an odd thing to state, really, but…

“I don’t want it to be quick, Mr. Stanley” Nobody ever gave him advice on Death, most of the ideas he came up with were from the newspapers he had read beforehand, having to fall off a building only to die instantly was never appealing to him. The idea of dying slowly, oh, it brought him joy.

“I see,” He looked down, “Do you drink?”

“Socially”

“If you want to die slowly, Mr. Fairholme, drinking yourself into an early grave will work out easily”

The last time he had ever talked about this idea, he had been scolded, berated by his manager for being so “self-hating”, his life “mattered”, but not the way he spoke, did it feel like that, he was violent with his words and horribly so. 

Stanley knew what he meant when he wanted death.

“Do you want to die, Mr. Stanley?”

Silence came between them, before he sighed.

“If I did, would you tell?”

“No, never, like you aren’t to tell I’ve done this, I keep everything to my chest, Mr. Stanley”

Perhaps they could die together, it would be nice not to die completely alone after all.

“I do, I always have, and it won’t change anytime soon, Mr. Fairholme”

It was strange, a thing like him -- a beast that bet himself to a pulp and cut himself open, would be given even the idea to be able to bond over this wicked idea.

“Do  _ you _ cut, Mr. Stanley?”

He paused, before closing in that gap between them, finishing the wrapping of his arm quite nicely.

“Not anymore, I prefer more methodical methods of self-destruction, usually sleep deprivation and burning works for me,” 

“Mhm, could you make the bandages tighter, sir?”

A glance was given, before he did so, it hurt greatly, the blood soaking it already, but it was worth it.

“I don’t feel the pain usually,” Stanley stated, “do you?”

Neifos laughed quietly.

“I always do, but I like it -- most men who come to you will cry and scream in agony, because it hurts -- I scream because I like it, my begging is because I want more, not for it to stop,”

“ _ Oh _ ,” 

He shut his mouth.

“I-I didn’t mean to say it like that, I--”

“No, go on,”

Nobody should act like that, but he didn’t mind.

“I- I like the way it burns, it's warm when I cut myself, lived in the cold all my life, and it brings me some level of comfort, it's like eating for me now, it's a natural reaction to anything that is...upsetting to me,”

“Upsetting?”

“This whole trip is a bloody mess, literally, I want it to be over with, everybody to die, so I can die knowing nobody will give a damn --” He looked down at Stanley, who looked so...intrigued by his thoughts and words, not in a studious way, but that dripped of similar thoughts.

“Perhaps I said too much,”

“Not necessarily,” He felt an urge in his body to grab him by the necktie and kiss him, perhaps it was the blood loss, but he did...like the thought. “Most men become delirious and suicidal when shown their own fate of certain death, I cannot blame you for being right,”

He didn’t mean to put a hand into Doctor Stanley’s hair, but yet again, he didn’t mean to end up here in the first place. Stanley, at just the touch of another person, looked like he had been shown love for the first time, the way a young boy gets around somebody they love, but cannot find the words to speak to them.

“Doctor Goodsir will not be back until the evening,” Stanley muttered, “Do you need anything else?”

Oh, he did, he really wanted more of that burning feeling in his wrist.

“Would you ever hurt another man if they told you to?”

His eyes didn’t even react, nor did his body react to that idea.

“Perhaps,” He looked up, “What would you like me to do, will decide if I do it or not -- I won’t kill you, Mr. Fairholme,”

If God could see this horrible thing he had done, through all the snow, he'd've cursed Neifos down where he stood.

But, he didn’t.

“Cut my clean wrist open, and if you’d like, I’ll burn your arm,”

Men don’t just die for no reason, they suffer for long, dangerous periods of time until finally either another man gets them, or they get themselves, but in those downtimes before death, they engage as close as they can with death, tempting it to take them.

By the time the next morning came, the other men didn’t even notice the bandages on his wrists, or the fact he had burned fingertips, when men see another person hurting, they either tell and berate them, or let them be.

Thank everything the Arctic makes men numb.

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry in advanced for this being the worst thing ever.


End file.
